At 2:47 in the Morning, the Waitress Chose a Killer. By Dawn, She Learned He Had Been Saving Her All Along.

Elena touched the edge of a pew as she passed, not quite praying, not quite refusing to.

Vincent moved like a man familiar with danger but not immune to pain.

Twice, he paused to listen.

Once, he placed his hand lightly against Elena’s arm, stopping her before two men in dark coats crossed the hallway ahead.

She knew at once they were not doctors.

The taller continue reading …